Battle of Wits
by harvestmooneve
Summary: King Alistair and his elven magical mistress reflect on the past milestones of their relationship.


_**Battle of Wits**_

Just as Anastasia awoke in a cold sweat from the most unnerving nightmare she had in all her days, she opened her eyes to glowing blond hair and glittering armor. Someone spoke, explaining the dream and what they knew, but she could only half listen. A warm, whispering voice came closer to her. The voice gave her chills down her spine.

The night sky and campfire indicated to her that she currently rested at camp. "Okay so," she thought, trying to reflect on the events. "The Harrowing, Jowan, blood, Duncan, those guys, more blood, death. Dragon!" Anastasia grabbed for her staff. Instead she felt cold, hard metal against the palm of her hand.

Alistair absolutely understood the young woman's shock. It was a bit odd that she was currently grabbing at his armored inner thigh. When he had the post-Joining nightmares, panic immediately froze him. "Bad dreams, huh?" he said in his low, monotone voice.

Pure terror rushed through her veins as she yelled, "Stay back!" A magical force from her finger repelled Alistair a few feet away. After looking around, she realized what she did. "Oh you're that boy from before. You enjoy watching women sleep, do you?" Anastasia studied the awe on his face. She chuckled and walked over to give him a hand. "Sorry about that. You'll get used to it."

"W-what?" he stuttered. Those should be his lines. He took her hand. "Are you alright?" Anastasia replied with a nod. The blond Warden stood up, "As you should know, I happen to be a man - not a boy."

The mage Warden laughed, "Man? You'll have to earn that title."

There was something more about Anastasia than she was letting on. Alistair stared at his hand. The deceitful girl had clammy, cold hands. Why was she putting on such an act? "I'm curious. What did your dream consist of?" he inquired returning to sit on the log near the campfire.

Below the starry night sky, Anastasia stared into the fire. She imagined the Archdemon and its horrendous appearance against the smoky green sky. What a contrast. Softer than the crackling of the firewood, she solemnly spoke, "Never have I seen a dragon before the last few days."

"The Archdemon is apparently not a dragon, but I understand. Every Warden's dream is different. Why I remember when I," Alistair humbly stopped clarifying. The stark silence sliced his sentence. He felt a scene such as this worth savoring. Coupled with the cool atmosphere, the beauty of the moment put the young former knight in awe. Nights like these, he usually found himself alone; however, tonight, in contrast with the warm beauty of the campfire sparks that spread asunder from Anastasia's direction, he found all other night incomparable.

She walked towards the fire to crouch down right before it. "An illusion is all it was," the subdued woman breathed, "But my intuition is as real as day, and that thing lurks in the shadows of now."

The campfire began to dwindle. Anastasia projected a small flame and and it burst bigger than either of the two predicted. By reflex, she jumped back and took a moment to regain her composure. She then giggled, "My apologies, Alistair, I had only meant to respark the campfire."

Of course, Alistair laughed along. The mood of the atmosphere thinned. "Anastasia, your magic is as quick as your mouth. Think before you speak... or shoot in this case," he chimed. They could finally go back to their typical persiflage after all the opening up. Late into the night, he explained all the terms and conditions of being a Grey Warden. She had many questions, and in turn, explained her experiences at the Circle. Alistair wasn't too difficult to entertain - he was nearly on the floor in laughter towards the end of their talk. Anastasia found solace in joking. Her anxiety faded as she grew more tired.

"Back at the tower, the kids called me a magician. Sometimes I'd fool my the Senior Enchanters," she bragged.

To Alistair, she didn't seem to be too cunning. "Aren't all magi considered magicians?"

"Magicians use deceit and illusions rather than actual magic. It takes intellect, cunning and a bit of dexterity," she explained, gesticulating with her staff. Her other hand was closed into a fist. "Would you fancy a gold coin?"

With doubt, he mocked, "Sure, I'm always open to receiving money."

Grabbing her staff, she waved it, "Pecuniam et vos dadada" she mumbled. "It is done," she announced gravely.

"Where is the coin?" he asked.

She shows both her hands and then reaches towards Alistair's head.

Alistair protested, "Hey, what exactly are you doing?"

"The trick," she flashed her sly smile. Silence once more as she reached behind the startled man's ear for a small gold object that paled in comparison to her smile. "Was it magic or a trick? I cannot conjure gold; however, I showed you my bare hand."

He narrowed his eyes and pondered on where the coin could have come from. Anastasia wore a thick, beige robe and the only skin visible were her copper brown hands, elven ears and face. Alistair smirked, "Up your sleeve. Who knows what all you have beneath your garbs?" What he said probably sounded perverse, "I...I meant pockets," he corrected.

"You meant what you spoke," she chuckled. "Beneath my robe are my undergarments and beneath my undergarments is..."

Alistair's face reddened, "No, no, that's not necessary to explain."

The female magician cocked her head to the side. "You act as if I would actually strip my robes off. I may be a forward woman, but I am not forward to the extent that I would strip for a near stranger," Anastasia explained. She then rolled her sleeves up to reveal nothing but more copper brown skin. "See, chantry boy? Ha, I bet this is the most female skin you've seen in your entire life."

Aside from the scantily clad Morrigan, it was. "No," he lied and that was it. "Anyhow, I believe you. I will take this gold and go to sleep. Tomorrow we head for Redcliff."

"Wait! I want it back!" she cried. Alas, he had tuned her out as he walked into his ten on the other side of the camp. With a heavy sigh, Anastasia decided to go to her own tent. She didn't feel too tired, but there was not much else she could do at that hour. Most of her party had retired to their tents.

Later on that night, Alistair woke up to relieve himself on a nearby bush. "Damn these bugs to hell," he cursed. After he finished, he heard someone. There was no threat, for he heard whimpers of a woman. To his surprise, the sobbing came from his comrade's tent. Should he try to comfort her? Should he ignore her?

Was it something he said?

Alistair got to his tent and sat up to ponder what could be going on. He then remembered her clammy hands. "This woman isn't fooling anyone," he thought to himself before falling asleep once more.

The morning brought the sun into the sky. Today was the day of the battle, but the morning felt too cool and graceful. Anastasia's muscles stretched to perfection as she yawned. Of course, she yearned for more rest, but there were other priorities.

"Wake up," ordered Alistair, "We've got some training to do."

"And what authority do you have over me?" mocked Anastasia. "A half-year to my two days does not grant you any sovereign over me."

"Those months of experience could save you in battle," the slightly more adept Warden said with confidence.

Anastasia looked him dead in the eyes. "And who's to say I need saving? Perhaps I'll do the protecting."

After receiving her blunt remark, he scoffed, "Just now, I saved you from the potential lecture Duncan would have given. I'm an ally from this point on."

"And if I told you I'm bare beneath this blanket, would you still feel the need to save me?" she taunted. "If Duncan caught you opening your female ally's tent, I think it'd be worse for you than for me."

Alistair scoffed, "Who's to say I was looking? B-But, very well." Like any wise man would, he retreated and began organizing his things. That woman has so much pride. Past his realization, he did, too. For now, his task was to sort out the best sword for this battle. This was definitely his first full on war against the darkspawn. The smile on his face couldn't be beaten by anyone or anything.

"Well good morning partner. I see you're rubbing your sword this morning," said Anastasia, "Don't worry, I walked in on plenty of men... rubbing their sword."

That was quite rude. "I was polishing it," he explained. "What made you want to finally wake up? I swear you could have slept through the entire Blight." Somehow he wasn't offended. The cheeky woman had got him to twist his tongue at times, but that was it.

She grinned, "You did." The words startled Alistair, but he remained silent. "I wanted to mock you more. Why else?"

"Is that it? Am I supposed to be graced by your presence?" he said as he returned the sword to his sheath. "Are you sure you're not flirting with me?"

"You wish!" she said, putting her boots on.

He remembered hearing her cry last night and cringed. That frail woman sobbing in the dark alone after she had been uprooted from the only home she knew. The scene reminded him of when he was a boy removed from Redcliff and put into the Chantry. The mere thought of that era gave him chills.

Anastasia tapped Alistair's head with her staff. "Alistair, you seem out of it," she noted.

"Oh, it's nothing," he replied, "Just trying to think if I've got everything I need for today."

"Last night," she remembered out loud. "I do not mind blood when it is for the right reasons. Defending this world or whatever. Battle can be fun.." There was one problem she had with blood. Her best friend, Jowan, got the better of her. Even so, she couldn't shake the guilt.

How long could she keep this act? "We head to Redcliffe today, correct? There shouldn't be much of a battle there," said Alistair, getting to his feet.

Anastasia narrowed her eyes. "How do you know?" she inquired. "You almost seem excited."

"I...I," stammered Alistair. As a matter of fact, he lived in Redcliffe for a good portion of his childhood. Why didn't he want to tell her that? "I don't know. I said we shouldn't as in Redcliffe is well guarded."

The mage's face was quite skeptical. "You must mean you heard it was well-guarded. You did explain Redcliffe as if you have never been," she paused, "Very well. If the time comes for you to betray us, it shall be very soon.:

"I'm not going to betray you," he sighed, "Or anyone here. I'll have you know I'm very loyal."

The two officially finished preparing for the short trip to Redcliffe. They gathered their company consisting of Leliana and Morrigan and began traveling to their destination. Alistair's palms were sweating - and not from the spontaneous encounter with rabid wolves that the party had moments ago, but because he perceived it impossible to hide his heritage any longer. And so, he interjected the minute they set foot on Redcliffe territory.

"What do you mean you've been lying the entire time?"

"Could you actually call this lying?"

"Does rain fall from the sky?"

"Look, you never asked. I just lost my half-brother - not that we were very close, but Duncan and all the other death pretty much puts a damper on us opening up to each other. On top of that, I assumed you would treat me differently."

Anastasia paused. "I thought you were comfortable around me," she muttered, looking at her feet.

Comfortable? Alistair stopped walking forward and about faced. "Comfortable?" he repeated. The tips of his cheeks turned red.

Morrigan gagged, "You two need to stop this instant. It's making me sick." Of course these two idiots couldn't communicate properly. Why on Earth did Alistair beat around the bush? And why was Anastasia being so sensitive?

"You're sure that was the only fact you've been hiding?" said the elven mage, making eye contact with Alistair. While she had magic abilities, she was not able to read the simplest thoughts.

"I am not hiding anything else," he cleared his throat. "Now, we should..."

Anastasia's smile grew wide. "So you're a prince," she restated, "Somehow, I find that quite thrilling. You don't have to worry about me asking you for anything. I think we've already established that I can take care of myself." Instead of grinning, she then smirked. In her Circle days as an apprentice, Anastasia tended to treat everyone equally. This didn't exclude the Senior Enchanters or even First Enchanter Irving. Jowan often said her lack of tact was part of her charm. He was her only friend.

The "prince's" eyes widened. His heart pounded and his palms sweat. As his hands were to his sides, Wilson the dog licked the salted dew off. His face turned red, didn't it? Leliana whispered something to Morrigan. It was probably about his red face. "I am a prince. You don't have to serve me. I'd like you to... you know," he babbled.

"I think new feelings are beginning, no? " she then whispered to Alistair. Of course that comment alone had him shaking with anxiety. That Orlesian rogue was quite perceptive, for he knew this New Feeling was somewhat of a fixation. Too soon to say if the New Feeling had romantic emotions attached to it.

"Moving on," he declared, marching forward on the path to Redcliffe. His heart had not calmed down. Even if this New Feeling was love, it had to give in to the many reasons against a courtship.

With sarcasm, Morrigan asked, "Is something wrong?"

Alistair scowled. The feeling left diminished and so when he turned around, his expression mellowed to a straight face. "If Anastasia has no more concerns, then I'd like to hurry to the castle of Redcliffe," he stated

Somehow, Anastasia's mood dropped slightly. The tone in her voice felt monotone when she claimed there were no more questions. "Alright, let us move forward to our destination.

* * *

 _10 years after the events of origins_

After helping Sergeant Kylon clear out a few bandits in the alleys, Anastasia finally entered the castle gates of Denerim. Of course, there was no fanfare for someone of her position, but she prefered it that way. As a mistress to the King of Ferelden, her only title was the Hero. Most of the citizens didn't seem to mind the sight of young love, and after 10 years, the critics turned a blind eye to it. Anastasia had pointy ears and a staff in her hand, and so she was indeed an elven mage. Centuries would pass before she could become queen of a human country.

According to legend, she had 20 more years before her imminent death. That didn't scare her. The dangers she faced regularly could possibly cut her lifespan short. King Alistair always sent a guard or two when her tasks involved violence.

A boy with light brown skin and friendly eyes identical to Alistair appeared from around the corner of the King's suite. "Mother is home," he announced to whomever was in the suite. "Are you hungry?" he asked Anastasia curiously. Slowly, he approached her with a innocent grin that could light up the darkest caverns.

"Yes, actually," she replied, "I hope I didn't miss dinner." The castle's food was superior to the Circle's. Since her Joining, her increased appetite never seemed to completely subside.

"Excellent!" declared a strong, cheerful voice. His hands pressed down on her shoulders. "Dinner can begin now that you are here, my dear." Alistair stood behind the startled mage. She immediately turned around to embrace him with a passionate kiss. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist as he slightly leaned back to lift her feet from the ground. "Dessert later on I hope," he purred.

Initially, the attention and power within the castle overwhelmed Anastasia. She could tell by Alistair's infamous (within the castle) dark circles that he was overwhelmed as well. With their partnership that stood throughout the Fifth Blight, they sought security within their relationship. Despite the constant pressure for the King to pick a proper queen, he somehow managed to rule alone since his coronation - not to say that he had sole rule over Ferelden. Anastasia had major influence over his decisions as did Arl Eamon.

As the rumors went, King Alistair had an Elven mage mistress who he traveled with before he took the throne. These weren't so much rumors as they were the blatant truth. Despite the fact their relationship was inter-species, they won over the country with their inspiring tale of true love. Over the past years, there was some opposition. The mistress had several qualities that have always been unacceptable within a role of such influence. She still managed to take actions any human queen could.

Anastasia managed to raise her fertility level enough at times through every tactic imaginable to have two children by the king. Gossipers speculated blood magic and that the children were abominations. Luckily none of the hearsay deterred the power of the king's rule.

In the Royal Palace, a dinner platter lie on the table for the family of four. An elaborate displayed the array of food choices for the quartet's dining pleasure.

Alice, the youngest Theirin kicked her legs beneath the table. "Mother is late!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms. Her long brown hair partially draped over the table. Boredom for a girl her age felt worse than a mild curse.

"Sweetheart, I apologize. My discussion with the Arl lasted longer than expected," explained the young mother. Alistair pulled out her chair for her to sit. Like a noblewoman, she exercised her somewhat recently learned etiquette by folding her hands in her lap.

Children who thoroughly learn charm may only execute it at their own discretion. The princess happened to be one of those sorts of children. "Father, tell Mother she's been a bad girl. I'm hungry," she whined.

Alistair stood at the opposite head of the table from where Anastasia sat. Alice lied her face beside the plate in front of her, still groaning. Liam, his son and heir stared at the covered turkey centerpiece. Desire filled his eyes. His lover gazed at him, entertained by his sudden pause in speech and action. The reason for his lapse being his sudden compulsion to reminisce on how much effort and luck were required to allow him to have such a wonderful family.

He felt the legality irrelevant to scheme of things. Years ago, the situation with Goldana led him to realize not only that he needed to become resilient. Along with gaining tougher mindset, he realized his biggest desires was a stable family. At the very least, he has always wanted a loving family. And he finally had one. A grin overtook his face as he locked eyes with his lover. She made a face indicating that she knew he was yet again gushing. Somehow, he knew she'd mock him later. Alice repeated herself. After registering her words, Alistair covered his cheeks with a single hand.

"Anastasia," he addressed her with his eyes behind his hand, "you've been a very bad girl." At least a year had passed before he blushed from ear to ear. The time before, he completely ruined his speech in Redcliffe by calling the city Denerim instead. Perhaps there was a time after then where Arl Eamon walked in on him and Anastasia getting close and personal.

She revealed a large grin. "I cannot believe you said that," she laughed, "Shall we begin?"

Alistair managed to calm down and begin eating. Alice was more than happy to finally get some food. During the day, the food offered to her didn't suit her pickiness. Liam ate his food quickly and happily. Anastasia contemplated exactly how she would mock Alistair after supper.

He wasn't afraid of Anastasia's stare, but it made him feel array of feelings like nostalgia. This love - where did it begin? Having made many speeches over the past years, he became a better story teller. Now, his stories had yet to reach the quality of Leliana's or even Zevran's, but they were enough to hold the attention span of his 10 and 8 year old children. "Have I ever told you of the first time laid eyes on your mother, children?" he inquired. "When she was at the Circle of Magi, and I was a Templar passing through?"

"No, you haven't," answered the brunette heir. Liam enjoyed stories of the past.

Alice nodded with her mouth full of mashed potatoes. "Un un," she muffled, making a small mess.

"I don't remember this at all," protested Anastasia, "However it is a cute story. Not very long however."

Alistair take a deep breath. He wanted to be able to use his dramatic and theatrical voice. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful maiden in a tower," he began.

* * *

 _12 years ago_

Alistair didn't believe in the Maker. He didn't believe that the Templars should keep such a close eye on the mages, and he didn't believe he should have to babysit a man 6 years his senior for the fear of him possibly becoming a demon. The chances of someone transforming into an abomination while undergoing the Harrowing are 1 in 80 or something like that.

Knight Commander Greagoir read some scroll about the protocol despite the Templar trainees literally being drilled on the exact process the day before. Alistair let out a long sigh - unintentionally. He earned a glare from Greagoir and the rest of the trainees.

"Sorry," he announced. But this felt like a Chantry school field trip, and not the fun kind. Unfortunately, the idle stance of a templar before a higher up was at complete attention. The group was to take a tour around every floor of the tower in order to get acquainted with their possible stations. Not everyone in the trainee group would actually attend the Harrowing, and so those who didn't would patrol.

Finally! After the monotonous white noise of Greagoir's instruction ended, the line started moving forward. The alternate tasks of Harrowing and patrolling were delegated as the line moved forward. As expected, most of the initiates wanted to avoid the potentially traumatic experience of a Harrowing. Patrolling the magi was known for being a typically uneventful duty. Alistair didn't care which assignment he received.

When the illegitimate prince reached the front of the line, he had to stop himself from sighing again. "Patrol," announced Greagoir. The news barely fazed Alistair. He walked to the side of the room with the other patrollers.

Alistair mumbled, "Great, another line."

After waiting around for a good half hour, Alistair received orders to patrol the library with the supervision of an Templar. The books smelled of magic and dust. There were humans and elves walking around as equals. Of course, in the outside world, the two races were damn near segregated.

Libraries are nice, but they're quiet like the Chantry. Alistair was sick of quiet. "So this is it," he thought to himself, "The rest of my life will be filled with silently watching wizards." Prolonged silence to Alistair felt like nails on a chalkboard so when he found someone about his age in the same boat he was, his face lit up. As he approached the lad, he noticed that he was studying something intently.

What could he be staring at? The other recruit twitched a small smile. A girl? Curious, Alistair traced his stare and found a young elven mage about his age. The girl had long dark hair, caramel brown skin, and a bright, warm smile as she talked with someone who must have been her best friend or boyfriend. He noticed the tips of her ears poking out ever so slightly through her hair.

In a half whisper, Alistair asked, "Your name is Cullen, correct?"

Cullen replied with a nervous nod. "Yes, sorry. I was distracted," said the young knight in training, clearing his throat. He halfway turned towards Alistair with a half smile.

"The girl, right?" said Alistair subtly motioning towards the girl. He chuckled when he saw Cullen jump. "I was right!"

"Can you keep your voice down?!" exclaimed Cullen. This time he fully turned towards Alistair. "I wasn't staring at anyone," he said, running his fingers through his own hair and avoiding eye contact, "We shouldn't talk to each other while on patrol."

Alistair looked back over at the girl. The man she was laughing with. Pale skin, black hair and a pretty much average man. They were more than likely just friends so Cullen still had a chance. "Poor kid," Alistair thought even though Cullen was only 1 year younger than him. The kid looked hopelessly in love at someone whom he could never be with. How often did Templars fall for

Watching her supposedly study but mostly talk in the library felt interesting. For some reason, he felt fixated on the girl and her gestures and facial expressions. There weren't many people with her particular darkened skin tone that Alistair had met. Perhaps she was at least part Rivaini. For some reason she stood out. Later, after Alistair and Anastasia joined forces, he would realize that "stood out" was an understatement in more ways than one.

Suddenly she stood up and declared, "Those two guys are new!" She pointed towards Alistair and Cullen.

Cullen attempted to casually face another direction after he hid his reddened face.

"What?" he said in a quiet voice. Why point them out? Maybe she was staring at them just as much.

"Anastasia, keep your voice down and don't harass the templars," ordered an older Templar on the side of the library closer to her. He lectured her as she tried to joke her way out of trouble. Would she be punished?

Anastasia. That's a unique name.

* * *

 **hmfan: Let me know if you see any errors or if you have any suggestions. Your reviews can be very helpful. This was fun to write, so reviews don't matter too much.**


End file.
